


Outlaws and Strawberries

by sleepysheehan



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Drabble, I don't know when I'll finish this, Other, Writing this when i can, from a dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepysheehan/pseuds/sleepysheehan
Summary: Adventures of Arthur Morgan and his close friend, Steven, who is a nonverbal young adult.
Kudos: 1





	Outlaws and Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a dream I had, so that's why I'm in it! I'll add more to this for sure, but this is all I have so far. I'll be putting this into chapters.

Last night, I dreamt I was at my funeral again. A wooden varnished casket with a comfortable plush filling, looking much like a dessert. The yarrow and verbena curiously poking out from behind, the maraschino cherry topping. The room was littered with chairs. Each seat sat a vaguely familiar face, and their cries were loud, calling out to the gods above. Their hands were clasped together, sweat dripping down their frozen distraught faces. They looked like sculptures, their lips were the only thing that was still in motion. The air in the room was cool and calming, easy to breathe in and out. A silhouette, practically dragging themself to the front, where my coffin sat. The figure was blurry, but I remember the way it sounded. Spurs clicking as the figure moved closer as each second passed. It seemed like an eternity until a rough hand brushed against mine, almost hesitant to touch my pale skin. A few minutes and the terrifying yet calming presence stayed in my mind, it was difficult to forget. I couldn’t look, couldn’t see who they were. Although I heard their voice, it burned into my sensitive ears. I was too afraid to turn my head; or could I not look? I felt glued to my death bed. Stuck and still, my heart began to pound.  
“Wake up.” They huffed, rubbing their palm against my knuckles. I refused. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let them win.  
My heart slammed against my chest, my fragile ribs ached. I swore it could’ve almost thrown me onto the floor. It had hurt, the raspy breaths, my lungs felt as if they were on fire. I was the campfire, and the figure was the one kindling it. It- no, he knew I was still alive, and breathing. Though the people, still in their seats. They were unfortunately unaware, still sobbing out prayers to their gods, begging for life, begging for me.  
“Wake up, c’mon.” The thick country accent burned into my ears once again, I squeezed my eyelids together.  
When I thought it was safe, I began to open my eyes, slowly but surely. 

As I fluttered open my blue eyes, the bright hue of light trickled down through the sheet above my cot. The hustling and bustling filled my mind, It was overwhelming. The sudden noises of the camp made me wince, but my concentration was focused on the man above me.  
Arthur Morgan.  
He was surprisingly already dressed without my knowledge. Usually, I would have woken up if he would have got up or moved in his sleep, but I realized it had just been because of last night: The big meal, the long-drawn and competitive game of Dominoes with Arthur, Hosea, and John. Arthur had won. It was no wonder, he’s a natural at tabletop games, especially Poker. Whenever he gets the chance, he’ll never pass up a game. The feast last night had tired me out, and as soon as I touched my cot, I had fallen into a deep slumber.  
The bright light made me squint, blinking every few seconds. I had to let myself adjust to the light, it had nearly blinded me when I had opened my eyes. I sat up on my bed, pushing the wool blanket off of my legs. Arthur moved his body back and shifted his weight onto his cot, giving me enough room to move my legs off of the bed and onto the ground. I felt the cool green grass tickle against my toes, sending shivers up my spine.  
“You sleep well?” He asked, chuckling to himself.  
I noticed he had his hat off and to the side, the end of his cot. And his attire, his usual blue button-up, black linen scarf, dirty black work pants, and leather boots with his flamboyant spurs he had gotten from Dutch van der Linde. His chestnut hair looked shaggy, meeting at his ears, he desperately needed a haircut, but Arthur didn’t mind too much for his appearance, especially his beard. He could even braid it if he wanted to. Arthur was unique in his own Arthur way. It was different, a good different.  
“You slept like a damn baby, wouldn’t even wake up for me.”  
He had given me a warm smile. I let out a soft laugh and nodded, pushing myself up off of my cot. I looked down at Arthur who was still sitting, fishing into his satchel for god knows what, maybe a cigarette or his journal. I took a few steps forward towards the trunk at the end of my bed, opening it up and pulling out my clothes. I had picked out a white button-up, cotton suspenders, a pair of dark brown work pants, and black boots.  
“Steven,” Arthur had raised his head from his journal, a pencil in hand. I perked up my head as I was zipping up my pants.  
“Hm?” I flattened my lips, making a curious noise.  
“You want to go fishin’?” Arthur stood up, pocketing his journal into his satchel, his gun belt clicking and smacking against his thigh, reaching over to our shared nightstand, grabbing my glasses and handing them to me.  
I thought for a minute, taking my glasses from him and then put them on. I pushed the bridge of the glasses up towards my eyes, the lenses now close, but not too close to my eyes. I buttoned up my shirt, rolled up the sleeves, and straightened out my suspenders.  
After I finished getting dressed, he was sitting there confused, waiting for an answer. We stared quietly at each other for a moment. I nodded fervently, a smile forming on his face. He laughed, “Grab ‘yer pole and ‘yer horse, I’ll meet you after ‘yer done gettin’ ready, ‘right?” Arthur smiled once more, turned on his heel, and walked past the blondes, Mary-Beth and Karen, who fluttered their paper fans, giggling and muttering quietly between themselves. They watched Arthur head towards his Thoroughbred mare, Boadicea. Boadicea looked more than delighted to see Arthur, blowing air through her nose and snorting, lifting her head as Arthur began to pat her neck, running his fingers through her soft mane. 

After putting on my belt and tightening it around my waist, I wandered past John and Jack. Both of them were still dressed in their undergarments. John was mumbling to Jack, something about reading books. Jack didn’t look too pleased, a frown plastered on his young face.  
Passing Dutch’s tent, I waved to him and he waved back, lips curling up as he nodded his head, a cigar in his mouth. Dutch was quiet around me, not too talkative. Though he was quite friendly, you could tell he didn’t see eye to eye with me. Deep down, he thought I was weird. A freak? Maybe, who knows what went through that van der Linde’s head.  
He took a few puffs from his cigar and followed behind me over towards the campfire, suddenly patting me on the back, “Steven! How are you doing?” He seemed enthusiastic. I would be too if I had just gotten my gang out of the depths of a cold, frozen, and abandoned mountainside.  
I nodded, moving my hand from side to side, signaling that I was alright, smiling at him.  
“Good, good! Now, Steven, I need to ask you somethin’.” He turned towards me as he watched me bend over to reach for the coffee pot and a cup, pouring myself a bit of coffee. It felt as if he was eyeing me up, but I stayed quiet. His jarring eye contact with the outline of my body was blatantly obvious. I sat the pot back down onto the ground and took a sip before raising my eyebrows. I listened to him, not because I wanted to but because I had to.  
“I heard you and Arthur were going on a fishin’ trip. While you’re gone, go get yourself a gun, I’m sure Arthur will be more than happy to help you pick one out.” Dutch exhaled a cloud of smoke.  
I shrugged as I took a drink of coffee from my tin cup. I made a weird face since it had been bitter, but I managed to swallow it down.  
Dutch let out a hoarse laugh, seeing my face turn sour, he nearly coughed up a lung, smoke pouring out from his nostrils. I giggled as well in return. The laughter soon dying down, glancing at each other, and trading awkward yet friendly smiles. He nodded his head, dismissing himself, “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Dutch made a somewhat awkward expression before he decided to walk away. He turned and started greeting Tilly and Abigail, who was sharing a tin of crackers beside his tent.  
I poured out the rest of my coffee onto the grass and shook my head a bit, that stale bitter taste still lingering on my tongue. It was awful.


End file.
